


Scathed survivors

by MotherMckinney21



Category: Maleficent (Disney Movies)
Genre: Backstory, Borra as a child, Character Study, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, It Gets Worse, LIKE ALL THE TIME, This Story gets deep, an explantion as to why he's so angry, ratings will go up once chapter 2 is published, tags will be updated as story goes along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27978516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherMckinney21/pseuds/MotherMckinney21
Summary: A Borra-centric story that focuses on the events that happened when he was just a child and how it shaped him to become the war-monger we know and love in Maleficent 2.Or in other words, Borra experiences flashbacks to certain parts of his past during different scenes of Maleficent: Mistress of evil.
Kudos: 5





	Scathed survivors

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys it's me again with yet another Borra-centric story!
> 
> I do apologize if this first chapter is a little short, I have been working on limiting the number of words I put into each chapter, my old works are an example of how overwhelming with words I once was. 
> 
> However, I do hope you enjoy what I have concocted for this story so far and that it's met with the same love that my other story Urchin was :)

**"Stand down!"**

Seconds later he's face to face with the young Prince of Ulstead, eyes boring into his while holding the tip of his iron sword onto his neck. The sizzling sounds of scorching skin are a mere buzzing noise in the background.

For it wasn't Prince Phillip he was so intensely glaring at.

_Instead, it was a group of three scruffy, middle-aged humans appointed as guards having cornered a trembling nine-year-old Borra who barely came up to their waists._

_Faced with no choice but to absorb the scar littered appearances of all three men, Borra traced each and every corner of his surroundings, seeking even the smallest possible chance of escaping unharmed._

_There was none._

_Even one of the men had roared with laughter in telling him so._

_"There's nowhere for you to run you little winged beast! So it's best if you stay where we can see you, or you'll lose your head!"_

_If his unpleasant demeanor wasn't anything to scream in utter terror about, then his halitosis certainly was._

_Zolan had given him more than his fair share of warnings that this would happen. Especially if the victim hadn't quite found their feet when it came to fighting for their kind._

_All throughout his early years, Borra had always been teased about his soft structure._

_Flimsy frail arms without as much as a hint of muscle that came with experience. His unblemished babyface along with his compact puffy wings that barely stretched to the length of his forearm only succeeded in complementing his equally feeble stubby legs and the little tufts of horns which Zolan loved to endlessly taunt him about._

_His laughable figure had of course earned him a cluster of ill-thought-up and insanely irritating nicknames, Zolans favorite one to use on a daily basis being fluff ball of fury._

_Fury being the inside joke within the name, nothing more than a belittling pun for the fear-stricken fae who was unable to master even the tiniest shred of bravery against the three men. All of whom sneered joyfully at the prospect of the youngster begging for mercy._

_Then came the weapon humans had used against his kind for centuries. Iron._

_Pain sears through his abdomen where the iron chains are being pressed against him. His mind conceding to the torment, unable to bring a single thought into completion. As the torment intensifies he's doubling over in pure agony, body curling into a fetal position, all while tears begin streaming down his face, shame and embarrassment radiating through him._

_A heart-rending scream shakes the atmosphere when the young fae can no longer contain the urge to yell out until his voice gives out._

_Out of nowhere, a hollered battle cry filled his ears, a rush of air suddenly engulfed him, chains abruptly ripped off of him. A fight then began to take place between Zolan and two of the three men, while the other held Borra down to prevent him from running away._

_All he could do was watch his older brother take on these two men, facial expression twisted into distorted rage when grabbing the two men and hurling them through the air, all the while making it seem so effortless. Not once did he relent and allow them to overcome him, instead he continued to overthrow the two men without as much as a deep breath taken._

_Until the man who had previously been left behind with the task of holding Borra hostage managed to sneak his way past the commotion and grab Zolan by the shoulders, a pointy iron sword just centimeters away from slicing his wings clean off._

_Moments later the other two men managed to recover themselves to join in with the action, forcing Zolan to kneel before them, the undignified position of being covered in the same iron chains used on Borra minutes ago grated at his very being._

_It was at that moment when a churning sensation simmered within the younger fae's stomach._

_His former timid, faint-hearted persona having succumbed to the pits of boiling rage that hissed throughout his entire body. Every rattled breath he took screeching a demanded release in the unwanted yet necessary form of violence._

_It was as if a volcano erupted at the realization that this was the only course of action available to him if he wanted to live past his childhood years. The wrath of fury consuming every inch of him causing his wings to puff up like daggers on a mace, eyes darkening at the ferocious build-up of the newly found instinct to blast all three men to oblivion._

_All eyes were on Borra when the ground beneath their feet started to rumble, the three guards on standby, ready to launch their attack when it was deemed to be the right moment to do so. Meanwhile, the said fae's scowl only deepened as he lifted a fisted hand and slowly uncurled his fingers, a rustle of leaves and vines were the only response to his elevating burst of strength._

_When a wailing screech of what would be known as a battle cry emerged from the fae child, all three men charged towards him. A fleeting glimpse of the guards was all it took for the buzz of his yet undiscovered powers to let loose into the out and open with the flash of his hand._

_An abrupt force of surging power filled the area, tossing all three men in various directions along with huge bits of dislodged dirt swiftly through the air. Screams of utter terror like music to his ears. Each of them landing with a series of sickening cracks and thuds, followed by an almost deafening wave of silence._

_Panting heavily, Borra slowly picked himself up from the ground and wandered over to where the body of one of three men lay. Unable to control the strange desire to get a closer look at the deceased man, Borra's eyes carefully traced his mangled body, bated breath accompanied his every move. Eyes slanted inwards and skull caved in from the impact of Borra's newly found power of chlorokinesis. Blood gushed out of both his mouth and nose, neck twisted into an unnatural position for a live being. The skin on his face already beginning to drastically pale as the life he'd previously lead drained from him._

_His subordinates sported identical injuries._

_Once the initial shock had worn off, the young fae felt a pang of pride warm him. A small smile of satisfaction crept upon his lips, the joy of having successfully eliminated all three threats to their kind in one giant swoop had got to be enough to earn one of Zolan's rare bellows of praise._

_However, it soon dawned on him that Zolan was nowhere to be found._

A sharp clatter of a sword snapped him out of the daunting flashback, bringing him back to the grisly reality of the present. Only to find he'd been spared and the Prince announcing that no fae blood would be on his hands.

With an exchange of stern stares followed by a brief pause in case either one went back on their word, Borra took off into the air. Releasing a howling warrior cry into mid-air to mark his good fortune.

Nothing like the blood-curdling screams of anguish that tore through his younger self when he'd discovered his brother's limp, wingless form before him.


End file.
